Chapter Text
Business was usually slow for Family Video on Monday evenings. Steve reckoned that it was because everyone always had something to do during Monday evenings (unlike Steve), and people would rather watch films on the weekend than walk into their local video rental store on a fuckass workday.
School was starting again in a week, too. Which meant that Dustin and other little runts were going to high school. Which meant that Steve was now officially old. An uncle halfway to the senior home, according to what Dustin had called him the day before. At the rate that everyone seemed to be aging, Steve almost couldn't blame Dustin for that insult. Almost.
"...and Vickie said that she doesn't know whether to grow out her hair or not, and asked ME what I thought, which is SUCH a hard question for me too! Because, oh my God, she'd probably look so cute either way, but I obviously can't say that without embarrassing myself so I kept nodding like an idiot--hey!"
Steve felt the hard cover of a thick catalogue thwack him on the back.
"Ow, Rob," he complained.
"Well, it's your fault for not listening, dingus. And you're the one who asked about Vickie," she snarked. She was tugging on a strand on her hair anxiously. Probably the thought of crush was enough to get her spiraling.
Steve sighed. "Apologies for not listening, but I thought you would've made a move on her by now. Fast Times, remember? 53 minutes 5 seconds?"
"And that's the only clear evidence we have so far." Robin groaned, head slumping back against the wall. "Trust me Harrington, you would get it if you weren't Mr. Dreamboat to all the straight girls out there. And the only girl to ever turn you down, sir," she paused her rant for a second to look around the store (which was unnecessary considering that the store was deserted, but Steve guessed the pausing was also for theatrical effect), "is me, a blaring lesbos." She whispered the last part, and if Steve didn't fully understand the consequences of being openly queer in '80s Hawkins, he would've laughed at her dramatic antics. Except he did know what happened to people like Robin, so he knew to keep his mouth shut. It was tragic in a sense that, no matter how much he tried to wingman Robin and Vickie, they both seemed adamant that they didn't, couldn't, like each other.
For all her grumbling, Steve bet Robin didn't know that this so-called Dreamboat wasn't getting any girls, straight or gay. Long ago were the days that Steve had the title of King Steve, Ladies' Man, and Hawkins High's official sweetheart (trust him, he wasn't the one who came up with those ridiculous names.) The loss of fame and status came after Steve's fallout with Tommy Hagan and his decision to quit the asshole act---something he definitely doesn’t regret.
He was shaken out of his thoughts abruptly by a loud shriek from Robin. Instinctively, with his mind already imagining the worst scenario possible (Were the Demodogs back? The Mind Flayer?), Steve grabbed a paper knife from under the counter and whipped around.
He should've known that moving like that was a bad decision. Pain immediately bloomed in his right temple due to the sudden twist of his head---a side effect of his past concussions---but his keeps his attention on Robin.
She stood frozen, eyes locked on something on the floor a few feet away.
"What?" He said, voice shaking slightly. This was bad. No one was around, not a single weapon on them, his nailed bat was in his car's trunk behind Family Video, shit, that's too far away-
"A lizard!" She shrieked. "We cleaned the floors just yesterday, right? When did that even get in here-"
Oh.
"Jesus H. Chist Robin, what the fuck." Steve let go of the paper knife and sank to the ground, his knees giving way. He finally saw the body of the little reptile on the floor. Presumably dead, given that it was very much unmoving and on its back.
"I thought some Upside Down shit was happening again."
"Well it is technically upside down. The dead lizard, I mean. It's lying on its back."
"Ha-fucking-ha Robin. Thanks for almost giving me a heart attack." Despite his annoyed tone, Steve gave her a weary grin of relief. He wanted to cry tears of relief because thank God she's safe. We're safe, he thought.
Unfortunately, as the adrenaline wore off, Steve felt the forgotten headache creep back into consciousness. The corner of his vision was already blurring a bit, and he knew that was a tell-tale sign of an oncoming bad migraine. With a grunt, Steve tried to stand up. This time the migraine came in full force, pain exploding behind his eyes and everywhere inside his skull. He quickly squeezed his eyes shut.
"Steve?" He heard Robin’s worried voice from somewhere above. Right. He was still on the ground, and his pained expression might not have been as subtle as he'd hoped.
"I'm good Rob, give me a second." Which was an understatement. He definitely needed more than just a second. The pounding in his head was worsening by the minute. Already, he could feel hints of nausea bubbling in his stomach. Don't you dare hurl, not here, he chanted to himself silently. Keith would never let him hear the end of it if he did.
"Don't start bullshitting me, you absolute dingus! You're not okay!" Robin cried frantically. He heard the metal jangling of keys. "I'm getting aspirin from the back, so stay put. And holler if someone comes in the store." Before he could register the words through his pain-induced haze, she was gone.
Brilliant. He was alone in his misery. Steve cracked open an eye. He wasn't too dizzy now, but the nausea persisted. He really wanted a trash bin in case of a worst-case scenario.
Distantly, he thought he heard the sound of the bell ring. Someone must have opened the door. Shit, he had to...holler, right? That's what Robin said. Except his throat's like sandpaper and he knew that any yelling would result in a massive hurl on the floor.
The counter was too high for anyone to notice his current state, which was both a blessing and a curse in a way. People would either assume no one's on duty and leave (because fuck Family Video's reputation) or they'd decide, for some reason, to lean right over the counter and find Steve, pale-faced, on the floor. The latter was much less likely.
Or so he thought. Immediately after he had that thought, Steve felt the back of his neck prickle as he sensed-
"Merlin's saggy ass cheeks, is that Steve 'The Hair' Harrington?"
Heart sinking, he looked up.
There, leaning over the counter on their elbows, was a man who appeared to be around Steve's age, but something about him implied that he could be slightly older. It was difficult to really make out the stranger's expression through the curtain of long, curly hair that obscured his face, until he cocked his head to reveal an unnaturally large grin. The man's clothes seemed rather unusual, too. Underneath a worn-out denim jacket covered in badges and pins, he wore a shirt with what Steve could make out to be an image of a devil, and the words "Hellfire Club."
"How, uh, how do you know my name?" he asked. He cursed himself as the words came out slurring a bit.
"Why wouldn't I know your name?" The man's smile seemed to grow even bigger. "I know everything about you, Stevie."
He leaned down lower as if to try to match Steve's eye level, and the act caused the hem of his shirt to slip. Steve caught the sight of a skull tattoo below his collarbone. Something in him jolted at the sight, and he averted his eyes only to notice another tattoo peeking out from where the man's sleeves were rolled up. It was presumably a snake of some sort, with its tail coiled around the forearm.
"Quite hungover, aren't we?"
Steve quickly snapped his head back up to the man's face (though not too quickly, thank God. He'd learned his lesson earlier). For the first time, he could see the man's eyes clearly.
They were brown and almost comically large. Steve could imagine himself describing them as almost doe-like in another situation, except now they were sharp, the man's gaze piercing. Not cruel, but dark with a glint that suggested mischief. He felt that jolt again, this time accompanied with a strange heat that spread from his lower belly.
"Aww, don't look so scared now, big boy."
" 'm not hungover," Steve heard himself say. He really wished he was though, because the foreign heated sensation from his hips mixed with the intense migraine. Small tremors shook his body, and no matter how hard he tried to stay grounded, consciousness kept trying to slip away. The cherry-on-top of Steve's disastrous situation was that his hearing was kind of weird too, as if someone was holding his head underwater, making everything sound muffled but also echo-y.
All in all, it really was a terrible time for his body to give up on its functions and go kaput.
Distantly, he remembered Robin and her trip to go find aspirin. Where the fuck was she? Steve made another attempt to stand up. He lasted an astounding two seconds, with wobbly feet and an outstretched arm, before his legs gave out again. This time, a hand shot out to grab his shoulder.
"Hey, easy there, Harrington." The man's voice sounded concerned, the first show of true emotion. A detail Steve would have noticed this if his attention wasn't on the hand gripping him--which it was.
It was firm and steady. Warm against his skin and, somehow, comforting. And for the second the pain stopped its relentless pounding, he sucked in a deep breath and tried to exhale in relief.
Instead, Steve whined. A loud, full-on fucking whimper.
The God in the heavens must have finally taken pity on the state of him, because as soon as the hand flinched and pulled away, he tipped forward as the white pain consumed him. After that, everything went peacefully dark.